Beat
by SilverShoes17
Summary: "We was beat when we was born." Jack's thoughts when he's sitting all alone in his cell in the refuge. Reviews are greatly appreciated!


**Disclaimer-Seriously? You need to ask? I'm writing on FAN FICTION! Of course I don't own Newsies. Duh.**

**Another quote-based fic! Hopefully I'm good at these, I find them really interesting! If you think so, challenge me and send me a quote to write!**

**This is more of Jack's thoughts, but like he's telling someone his thoughts (if that makes sense), so it's kind of choppy. I mean, when anyone thinks, one thought leads to another and sometimes we get sidetracked.**

Now, I ain't one to be a downer, but being put up in this dump again is starting to make me one. True, I've only been here two hours, but in a sense, I've been here two _years_. Ever since I escaped, it's been the same old thing. Keep up the Kelly bit. Don't let people find out. Always scared of getting caught, it's almost worse than actually _being_ caught.

So Pulitzer made me this offer, can you believe that? He's actually scared of us. Us, "a bunch of angry kids with no money," as David called us. It was good to see we're actually making some sort of difference, even if it is just getting Joe off of his high horse. That's gotta count for something, don't it? We got someone's attention, at least.

Anyways, he offered me a pretty decent amount of money to work for him selling papes as a scab 'til the end of the strike. And I took it. I mean, Santa Fe's always gonna be there, but I'm not. I'm just hoping the boys'll end the strike soon so I can get my cash and run. That was another condition. The strike's gotta end without me.

It'll have to. I took the deal. I ain't stupid, I know what's real. I know it's real that we don't have a shot in hell of winning the strike anymore.

I can already see the guys' faces tomorrow morning, seeing me in my fancy shmancy suit. Seeing me as a scab. Spot'll wanna soak me. Dave probably will too. Actually, all of the guys probably will.

Except Les. Les'll just be confused.

Here the kid is, a newsie for less than a month, and already caught up in a mess. Knowing him though, he'll try to defend me somehow, but it won't do much good. The boys'll all hate me, no matter what the kid says.

They oughtta know somehow that I'm only doing this for Santa Fe. I'm growing up now, I gotta think about my future. I can't be a kid no more. They'll understand, they gotta. A couple of them are even older than me, this should be a wake up call to them. They can't honestly _wanna_ live in that dump forever. No offense to Kloppman, but they should really start thinking about getting out on their own. And they should all know that, if they keep up the strike, they're all gonna end up here as well.

That leads me back to the downer thing.

This shithole has brought back some memories. Memories I never wanna have to face again, so I'd rather not go into detail about that. All I know is that I'm stuck. I'm stuck in New York until these boys finally see we can't win. They may be scared of us, but we still can't win. Joe has alternatives to sell his papes. I, being a scab as of tomorrow, am gonna be one of them. There are plenty of kids who ain't a part of the strike who are more than willing to pay the extra tenth of a cent to buy their papes.

_Those_ boys are smart. They know you gotta spend money to make money.

Unfortunately, that'll probably be the reason if we get soaked tomorrow. Who would have thought having some brains could get you a black eye?

Ain't irony great?

That's just how the world works for us. For us people who ain't so lucky at life. People born into the wrong place and the wrong time. They get stuck in shitty circumstances they can't get out of. It's all a game of chance, life. You don't get to choose who you are or what kind of life you're born into. You just get it, and then you're stuck. You can't change it, no matter how much you wanna. It just can't be done.

And that's exactly what I told Crutchy when he came to see me tonight.

"We was beat when we was born."

I pretended not to notice his face after I said it. He looked heartbroken. Defeated. Like there was no hope at all for any of us strikers. But honestly, how can he believe there is? We're just kids, complaining and whining about the real world. Joe and the adults all have the power. We got nothing on them. Any of them. No one's gonna listen to us, no matter how many voices we get to scream it.

**So, yeah. I don't know if this is very good. So review and tell me!**


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